A.B.C-Z, High Tension

Title: High Tension
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Summary: Tottsu seems like he’s angling to get punished today.
AN: Written for Shiritori. Well after what Kira wrote, I had no choice but to do the dirty hasshi/tottsu, seriously.

High Tension

“Okay?” Hashimoto didn’t wait for a reply once again and shoved Totsuka’s hand straight down and into his pants. It’s the second time today, the third if you count last night at the end of the practice that had gone past midnight. At least last night the others had helped out and let Totsuka take it easy.

“Where do you even get this energy?” Totsuka asks, letting Hashimoto do what he wants as usual. It’s a serious question, given that they’re A.B.C. If Hashimoto were Kisumai’s F, half the unit would probably be dead of exhaustion by now.

“I’m nineteen?” Hashimoto suggests, like clearly. He rocks his hips into Totsuka’s grip, settling more firmly into Totsuka’s lap. “It’s not my fault you guys are old men.”

“Should have joined AKB48,” Totsuka retorts mildly. “Women reach their sexual peak at age 30, you know.” He grunts when Hashimoto kicks at him, heel striking Totsuka’s calf.

“Don’t talk about girls while you’re getting me off,” he orders, glaring down at Totsuka. His eyes look so dark framed by the new blond hair, and Totsuka’s blood starts to rush a little despite himself. Hashimoto’s glare turns into a smirk, like he can see right through Totsuka, and he gives Totsuka’s hair a sharp yank. The surprise and sting of it makes Totsuka’s hips jerk up against Hashimoto’s weight. “Mm, Tottsu seems like he wants it a little rough today.”

“You magic us a free hour and a soundproof room, and you can be as rough as you like,” Totsuka says easily.

Someday he’s really going to learn his lesson about giving Hashimoto open-ended offers like that. When the practice room lights blow a fuse in a spectacular shower of sparks, Totsuka only shakes his head, unsurprised.

“Come on,” Hashimoto purrs in Totsuka’s ear, appearing behind him like magic. “This way~.”

The vocal practice room has an ‘under repairs’ sign on the outside but isn’t locked, and when Hashimoto tugs Totsuka smoothly inside, one of the walls has some of the acoustic panels down to be replaced.

“So it’s not the whole way soundproof,” Totsuka points out, just to be contrary. Hashimoto eyes him, unimpressed, and says he can’t take care of everything, geez. He’s already stripping off his shirt, impatient, and Totsuka can’t keep his eyes off of the sleek curves of Hashimoto’s muscles, how well he’s filled out.

“Don’t just look,” Hashimoto coaxes. He steps close enough to put Totsuka’s hands on his skin, then reaches for Totsuka’s clothes. His skin feels every bit as good as it looks, smooth and so warm, the scatter of bruises from their practices cute rather than blemishes.

Totsuka leans in to press lips against the closest bruise, on Hashimoto’s shoulder, and Hashimoto makes a quiet, pleased noise. Totsuka chuckles. “Should I kiss them all? It might take quite a while.”

“Later,” Hashimoto says vaguely. “We’ve only got an hour.” And then like magic the rest of Totsuka’s clothes are on the floor and Hashimoto’s fingers are digging into Totsuka’s skin, like he’s trying to make more marks to kiss later. Hashimoto’s trackpants are still on, just pushed down a little, but there’s something hot about that, how obvious it is that Hashimoto is going to be the one to take advantage of Totsuka, this time.

They debate logistics for a minute, the floor looking uncomfortable and not much else in the room, but there is a long, skinny table by the wall for people to put their stuff on, and that seems like it’ll do. Hashimoto urges Totsuka up onto it, stepping in between his legs to tugs him close for another kiss.

“You know,” Totsuka says breathily while Hashimoto dances fingers across his back, “people put their water and stuff on this table, it’s not exactly hygienic.”

“You’re just full of complaints today,” Hashimoto informs him. “Are you trying to get punished, or what? You aren’t going to get me to change my mind about having you just by needing to have your mouth kept full, you know.”

“It’s possible we’ve trained you too well,” Totsuka murmurs. Hashimoto grunts and pushes Totsuka back by the shoulders until he’s flat on his back along the length of the table. Totsuka hisses from the cold of it against his skin, and Hashimoto’s grin has just a little too much Goseki in it for comfort.

Hashimoto doesn’t waste any time slicking his fingers with the packet of travel lube from his pocket and working the first one inside of Totsuka. The cool touch makes Totsuka squirm, and he has to concentrate on relaxing into Hashimoto’s touch. Hashimoto doesn’t take his time, a little rough as promised, and it makes Totsuka spread his legs wider even as his body stubbornly resists.

“Come on, you want me, right?” Hashimoto encourages. His free hand roams over Totsuka’s stomach and chest, tweaking his nipples roughly, grazing the place where Totsuka’s navel piercing used to be. “Say.”

“I want you,” Totsuka answers, a noise catching in his throat when Hashimoto pushes in a second finger, stroking at the skin just behind Totsuka’s balls with his thumb. He spreads his fingers, and the stretch of it makes want pool in Totsuka’s stomach. “Ryosuke, please.”

Usually Hashimoto scolds Totsuka for not taking care of himself, but that’s not the game they’re playing today, so he pulls his fingers free with a shrug. He pushes his track pants down farther, far enough that he can slick his cock with the rest of the lube, and Totsuka lifts his head to watch shamelessly. Hashimoto is bigger than two of his fingers for sure, and Totsuka shivers in anticipation.

“Relax,” Hashimoto warns. He holds himself steady as he starts to push inside, the other hand holding Totsuka’s hip to keep him steady as well. Hashimoto isn’t fast but he’s steady, relentless, and the burn of it races over Totsuka’s nerves and makes his eyes tear a little. “Mm,” Hashimoto praises, a little breathless. “You’re so tight, so hot.” When he’s in far enough that he doesn’t need to use his hand anymore, Hashimoto touches Totsuka instead, both hands skimming over Totsuka’s chest and belly. “Come on, open up for me.”

Hashimoto eases back and pushes back inside in a long, smooth motion, and Totsuka can’t hold back a long noise.

“Yeah, let me hear you.” Hashimoto does it again, only a little faster, and this time at the end of his stroke he’s buried the whole way inside Totsuka. “Ready? Tottsu said I could be rough.”

“Ryosuke,” is all that Totsuka’s answers. His back arches on its own when Hashimoto does exactly what he says he’s going to, his hands clenching into fists without anything to hold on to. “Ryosuke, oh…”

Hashimoto grabs Totsuka’s hips tightly as he starts fucking him in short, deep thrusts, his sneakers squeaking a little on the floor. The leverage would be better if he had Totsuka on his stomach, but Totsuka knows that Hashimoto prefers it this way so that he can watch Totsuka’s face, can see Totsuka’s cock curling against his own stomach. Totsuka likes it better this way too, would much rather watch the flash of Hashimoto’s eyes as they drag over Totsuka’s skin, the flex of Hashimoto’s muscles as sweat starts to bead on Hashimoto’s arms and chest.

Totsuka’s already hard and leaking against his stomach, but Hashimoto makes no move to touch him.

“Gocchi says,” Hashimoto says, almost conversationally, “that if I do it right, I can make you come without touching you.”

“It’s happened before,” Totsuka answers, voice thin and breathless. Hashimoto’s cock can touch him deep enough to do it, but it takes patience and some time, and the table isn’t comfortable really. “Takes time, though. Some trial and error.”

“Only got an hour,” Hashimoto agrees, frowning a little, but then his expression smoothes as he files that away for later. “Later, though, I can be patient.”

“Can you?” Totsuka asks, just to nettle. “You don’t feel very patient right now.”

“No wonder Gocchi likes punishing you so much,” Hashimoto growls. He digs his fingers in deeper, fucks Totsuka harder until Totsuka’s breathing is too quick for him to mouth off anymore. “Plus you look so good desperate. Hand down, you can’t touch yourself yet.”

Stamina is both the best and worst thing they ever taught Hashimoto, for sure.

Totsuka makes it until Hasshi drags two fingers through the wet spot on his stomach and then puts his hand to his mouth to suck his fingers clean.

“Please touch me,” Totsuka begs, curling legs around Hashimoto’s thighs and begging with his whole body. “Ryosuke, please, please.”

“Mmmm,” Hashimoto grins down at Totsuka’s display, clearly pleased by what he sees. “A’course. All Tottsu has to do is ask.” His hand is hot and still a little lube-slick when it wraps around Totsuka, and Totsuka’s cock jumps at the first touch. The sight of his cock sliding through Hashimoto’s long fingers in time with his thrusts is too much for Totsuka, and his eyes squeeze shut no matter how he tries to keep them open.

The heat gathering low in his stomach is impossible to hold back, and Totsuka cries out as that heat washes over his whole body and he spills over Hashimoto’s hand and his own stomach. For a few moments, all he can do is gasp for air as Hashimoto keeps fucking him, steady but a little slower, as if he’s drawing out Totsuka’s aftershocks.

A touch to his stomach makes Totsuka open his eyes, and he’s unsurprised to find Hashimoto dragging fingers through the mess on Totsuka’s skin.

“Weirdo,” Totsuka accuses with affection. He feels boneless and fuzzy around the edges, and he wants Hashimoto to finish so that he maybe has time for a little nap. “Hurry up and come too, before we break the table.”

“Fine, fine,” Hashimoto agrees like it’s a chore. He pinches Totsuka’s stomach to make him squirm before he plants both hands flat on the table to fuck himself as deeply into Totsuka as possible. Even though he’s already come, Totsuka likes this part too, likes watching Hashimoto’s face tense in concentration, then relax in release.

“Mm, hey,” Totsuka protests without any real heat when Hashimoto lets his weight flop onto Totsuka’s chest. He drags his hand through Hashimoto’s silly blond hair, now sweat-dark. Hashimoto only clings more tightly and all but purrs, still shivering all over. “You’re heavy.”

“Tottsu’s so comfortable, though,” Hashimoto sighs, nosing at Totsuka’s sternum. Totsuka feels the quick, wet swipe of Hashimoto’s tongue against his skin. “Tastes good, too.”

“Off, idiot,” Totsuka orders, swatting at Hashimoto’s shoulder. “And help me up. Why does letting you have your way always end up so messy?”

Hashimoto only laughs and steals a kiss as he pushes himself up, reminding Totsuka that the mess just means they did it right.